


Look At The Fire And Think Of Me

by delirante



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, i like to pretend im jon lol, im a simple lesbian, the sexy cave sex i deserve, this was going to have a plot but idk what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delirante/pseuds/delirante
Summary: Warm hands cup his face, pick at the ice in his beard and prop him up and out of the snow, drag him into the more bearable cold of the cave.He has not seen her so much as shiver through all of this, not even once. It is some consolation to know his name was never truly Snow, for he succumbs too quickly to do it any honor. And he is no dragon, the fire burns him just as much as the coldest ice. But Dany endures, a flame burning miraculously in the winds of winter.





	Look At The Fire And Think Of Me

It comes down to the three of them in the end. The only people in the world who can stand against the Night King. Or so his brother- _cousin -_ says.

Bran is worlds apart from the cheerful boy he once knew. He is the three-eyed raven now. He fights in his mind, in the past, the present and future. They must protect him at all costs because, and they must never forget, the Night King is a greenseer as well.

 _The three of us combined, Jon_ , _do you understand?_ The Night King can always find them.

But it’s also the two of them, he and Daenerys.

Bran has explained that Jon must stay, he is one part of the greater whole, and he complies, but not without protest. His place is on the battlefield - he should be fighting alongside his people, not running. Daenerys holds her silence and he is surprised when she nods her agreement. Like Jon, she has seen too much now to deny the boy.

Bran has seen it all, a different sort of fighting, a whisper of victory, for no army can hope to defeat the dead. It doesn’t make him feel any less out of place amidst ice dragons and three eyed ravens.

Melisandre has said he is ice and fire but if that is true then it is only by blood and in name. Dany is the one who can walk through fire, the one who has visions of a world wrought in ice. Perhaps that is why she agreed so readily.

Jon has no visions, he can only freeze to death slowly in the cold.

Warm hands cup his face, pick at the ice in his beard and prop him up and out of the snow, drag him into the more bearable cold of the cave.

He has not seen her so much as shiver through all of this, not even once. It is some consolation to know his name was never truly Snow, for he succumbs too quickly to do it any honor. And he is no dragon. The fire burns him just as much as the coldest ice. But Dany endures, a flame burning miraculously in the winds of winter.

He wants to swallow the sweet air of her breath to know a fraction of that insensible vitality.

He blinks dazedly up at her as she pulls him into her lap, rolling the stiff, half-frozen furs from him. She moves on to his chest plate and peels off his boiled leathers until he's naked in his breeches. He shudders, finding her bare against him and wraps his arms around her waist.

She smells good. He thinks of the space between her legs; a fresh, intimate scent and the source of that incredible heat. It sends a shock of desire from his groin all the way up his spine that leaves him trembling.

Her hands move in his hair, small like the rest of her. A shameful part of Jon takes great satisfaction in lumbering over her, caging her in the space between his arms. Even underneath him she had struggled to reach his mouth.

He smiles now, remembering.

“What is it?”

He shakes his head and holds her tighter, throat too sore to respond. He doesn’t want her to know.

She digs her fingers into his scalp quizzically, making him groan.

“Your head shouldn’t be this cold.” But he can feel the prickling pain of himself growing warmer from her touch. It makes him shiver.

“Here, come.” She says. She lies down, pulling him along with her.

He takes the opportunity to grab her bottom in one hand, pressing her into him. He has no other designs on her at first, but the longer she holds him, rubs her satin cheek against his, the more he wants to bury himself inside of her.

With his other hand he pulls her hair back and watches as her mouth falls open. He stares for a moment at her lips, maddeningly soft and plump. The shape and color never fail to make him think of where she’s similarly plush and the thought sends all the heat rushing back to him, not a bit of him cold though he had nearly died moments before.

She bites her lip and he kisses her, his tongue dipping into the melting warmth of her mouth.

He loves her. Gods help him they could all die tomorrow but it doesn’t matter. She is here.

She’s got scars on her back, long raised welts. Whip marks. One for each stab wound on his chest. He traces them carefully with rough fingertips, the way her soft hands had done his. _Part of a greater whole_ , he thinks he understands those words best in these moments, together with her like this. Her body a complement to his own.

Dany reaches down, fingers brushing against where he is aching. He kicks off the last of his clothes impatiently, mouth never leaving hers, and runs his hand between her breasts, over the smoothness of her stomach and finally between her legs.

He holds his hand there, thumb pressed into the swollen nub at her apex, fingers sinking inside. She sighs against his mouth, breaking the kiss briefly, and a flood of wetness flows over his palm. He wants to taste her, lick and kiss her there until she can’t see. He will do all those things. Later. 

For now, this.

She re-directs his face to hers again and nips at his lip gently.

She looks him in the eyes as she places her hand over his, pushing his fingers deeper. He presses his forehead to hers, seeking out her mouth but she dodges his attempts. Her intent elsewhere.

He swallows dryly as she takes the hand between her legs and places it on her hip, wrapping her legs around him.

She rocks against him and he can’t hold it any longer. He takes her mouth, driving his hips into hers.

She is impossibly wet. And hot, too hot. He wasn’t ready. He grunts when she clamps down around him and they quickly fall into a rhythmless grind, desperate and hard.

The sounds of her push him over the edge and he holds her tighter, not an inch between them. He spills into her mindlessly, eyes pressed shut, gasping, thrusts growing weaker with each moment.

When it’s over he makes no move to remove himself from her body. His heart swells with the tenderness with which she holds him to her. The way she runs her hands down his back. Just as he’s caught his breath she tightens around him once more. Jon smiles weakly, surprised, his body slave to such simple, nerve-grating pleasure.

“Again?” he asks, kissing her collarbone softly. He had meant to take her with his mouth next but from the way her hips move against him it seems she has something else in mind.

He slides an arm down her body, gripping her thigh and thrusting into her roughly.

“Mmm.”


End file.
